The Enchanted Prince
by Tyan
Summary: There were only memories left for him. ONESHOT. Gil/Oz


**Summary: **There were only memories left for him.**  
Pairing:** Gil/Oz**  
Rating:** K**  
Words:** 844 (shooort)**  
Notes:** First Gil/Oz fic, hopefully of many more to come. Betaed by Forthwo, but any mistakes that remain are still my own. Constructive criticism is very welcome :)  
**Disclaimer:** Pandora Hearts © Yun Mochizuki

* * *

**THE ENCHANTED PRINCE**

* * *

Every time Gil cast a look in the mirror and saw the young man scowling back at him, shadowed eyes narrowed to slits, it struck him just how much _different_ he had become – different from that small, gangly boy who shuffled his feet beside the young master and fumbled nervously with the cuffs on his sleeves. The memory of him was battered and faded, like an old photograph, shelved within his mind in places where it could never be stained by darkness. It both scared and assured him, knowing that this memory was still sharp with emotion, despite how the years had torn at the images and lost them of clarity. He's sure that if that memory had failed him, he would have been driven into madness a long time ago – without it, he would have pulled the noose over his head or submitted to the inviting gleam of his guns.

-

(Oz tipped his head back, and his eyes found Gil's immediately.

Gil blinked in surprise, too shocked at first to comprehend the fact that he'd been caught staring, before his stomach tightened with embarrassment. But Oz made no comment; he simply chuckled, a familiar playful glint below the shade of dark lashes, and without further fuss he turned his attention back to the book and refrained from casting a single look over his shoulder again.)

-

He trained until he collapsed, until his hands were raw and bleeding, and he thought of Oz. He lay awake at night, too afraid to succumb to the nightmares, and he thought of Oz. He pulled the trigger, saw the blood shine on the floor, and he thought of Oz. He felt the darkness wrap its hands around his neck and squeeze, squeeze until his thoughts grew weary and hopelessness tipped in favour, and he thought of Oz.

-

(Their hands brushed against each other, just slightly, but it was enough to make Gil jump and sputter like a boiling teapot. Oz's eyes widened a little in surprise while Gil tried to make sense of something other than the chant of _stupid stupid stupid_ in his head. But before he could come up with any sensible comments, Oz's lips curled into a soft smile and he cupped Gil's face, stroking a thumb along his jaw. Gil gulped and went completely rigid, while Oz smiled sweetly, running his fingers through the mess of his coal-black hair and massaging his scalp, until Gil finally dipped his eyes closed, leaning into his touch like a cat.

Then Oz pulled back, his eyes glittering with mischief, before he whirled around and broke into a sprint towards the mansion.)

-

Sometimes Gil found relief in those classic everything-was-alright-after-all dreams, where Oz was with him – _'How could you fall asleep under the ceremony? Of all times... Have you really been sleeping that little? Silly Gil. You need your rest, you know!'_ – everything was just a dream, just a dream, everything, the blood and the abyss and the disappearance of Oz, everything... But reality slapped him awake eventually, the sheets would be cold with sweat, and the world would still be swathed in grey. Life resumed back to the way it was and Oz remained a dream, a memory.

-

(Oz was beckoning him away from the bookshelf, and it was as though his gaze had a strange magnetic force: Gil was unable to look away.

His master's voice held a low husky tone that made all of his mouth go dry. _'I_ _wonder what it feels like to kiss someone. Have you ever done it?' _

Gil licked his lips self-consciously.

_No_, he answered honestly, blush prickling warningly on his cheeks. Oz reached out and ran a smooth finger over his bottom lip, gingerly, tenderly, like he had all the time in the world, leaned close until their faces were barely inches apart, his breath ghosting over his skin – but, as always, Oz pulled away and urged him off to complete the dusting.

This time, though, Gil was certain he'd seen his master's cheeks redden.)

-

He wasn't sure what he had been expecting. What could he have been expecting? For ten years he had driven himself to the brink of sanity and survived by remembering how things had been in the past, knowing that there was still a way to bring parts of it back. Oz was exactly the way he used to be: golden hair, long sooty eyelashes, pale skin that burned against his touch – and fifteen years old. His master returned to him, bright and vivid and _himself_, just like the dreams and yet much, much more. Discovering Gil's identity, he gave him that same, knowing look that sent chills up and down his spine. Just as knowingly, he brushed his fingers along his hand as he slid passed, and kept on walking as if nothing had happened.

Oz held his head high and Gil felt twelve all over again.

-

(Oz wore a feline smile that stripped him of all pretence, a smile that knew exactly what lay hidden behind his stony expression. His master owned him; heart and soul.

He wouldn't have it any other way.)


End file.
